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CHAPTER TWO
Amelia climbed outof the limousine and tugged her red Mui Mui coat around her. It was probably a little bright for the occasion, but she didn’t care. She was feeling the festive spirit, given it was only a week before Christmas.
Anyway, she had a proper little black dress underneath—Dior, of course—and a pair of Prada pumps. She wasn’t going to stand in a pair of anything uncomfortable for hours this evening. Even for her best friend and fellow artist, Stella Freeman.
Tonight was a special showing for Stella at the iconic art studio, Studio XOXO, and Amelia couldn’t wait to see her beautiful paintings hanging on the walls.
She nodded politely to her driver as he closed her door and headed towards the entrance.
“Ms. Dufort,” the doorman said, opening it for her with a respectful drop of his head.
He recognized her.
Everyone in the art world did. She was a very well-known sculptor–or someone who makes funny-looking statues, as her brother Aidan called it.
Rude.
Just because he didn’t appreciate abstract art.
She was chalk and cheese with her big brothers. They both had business brains where she spent most of her life daydreaming and imagining beautiful things in her mind.
Now, she brought them to life and got paid an insane amount of money for them.
Thank God.
She couldn’t imagine what her father or brothers would have dragged her into if she’d been a struggling artist. A term Aidan usedaffectionatelyto describe her.
Just because he was a bazillionaire inventor. Her multi-seven-figure income each year meant she would never starve, nor would her other brother, Logan, who was just as annoying and wealthy as Aidan.
Amelia could handle them. It was the comments from her father that had hit deeper over the years. Being told no man would like someone covered in paint who did all thatweirdstuff wasn’t nice.
Her mom just smiled and shook her head, telling Amelia to ignore her father. “Find yourself a man who also dabbles in the arts, darling. He will understand you.”
That had made sense and paved the path for her rollercoaster of a love life. Artists were renowned for being untidy and moody. Worse, they seemed to lack a sense of commitment.
At least the men she chose.
Stella had told her to broaden her search, but there was no way she was dating anyone in a suit that even resembled her brother or father in their Tom Ford or Armani’s.
Because they’d think she was weird.
If she couldn’t trust the creative men in the world to commit to her, it was highly unlikely a suit would. Her heart had been burned, and she was beginning to think she was destined to be alone.
Not even her father believed she could snag herself a great guy.
